


The Best of Us

by theladybeatrice



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: "The Challenge", Gen, episode 108
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladybeatrice/pseuds/theladybeatrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treville examines his thoughts and actions during the Cardinal's challenge with the Red Guards.  Who is the best Musketeer and what does it mean to be the best, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best of Us

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have watched "The Challenge" a million times by now!

Treville really didn’t know what had happened. He was usually so in control of his own emotions. It had been years, decades really, since that youthful impudence found its way out of his mouth before his brain caught up. “Head over heart,” he thought ruefully, echoing what he had heard Athos tell d’Artagnan so recently. If he had kept his head over his heart, he wouldn’t have put himself and the whole damn regiment in this position. Now though, he was forced to choose a representative to fight the Cardinal’s Red Guards, and he was sure the Cardinal would not fight fairly. 

**********

Treville could hear the grumbling pass through his men when he announced the entry fee. He had expected it. While the Cardinal could probably pay the bet from his own coffers, the Musketeers had no such surplus of funds. It was all Treville could do to keep his men clothed, fed, housed and armed. Being at the beck and call of the king did not come cheaply, and the king paid little attention to the cost his whims incurred. Treville supposed that the entry fee would discourage some from competing. If a man wasn’t creative enough to find the fee, perhaps he didn’t deserve to represent the regiment. 

The only exception to Treville’s mind was d’Artagnan. The youngest recruit was barely getting by; without a full commission, he was not earning a salary. Treville had creatively managed to pay him for his participation in specific missions, but the days when he trained at the garrison were technically on a volunteer basis. Treville suspected his friends were quietly doing what they could, inviting him to dinner (and discreetly paying), passing off a spare pastry or bit of fruit, and once he had heard Aramis accuse of Porthos of losing at cards purposely, allowing the Gascon to take home the winnings he needed so badly. 

Treville was confident that Athos would have the fee; being a Comte had its advantages. Aramis would surely charm some wealthy widow, and likely encourage Porthos to do the same. Treville didn’t think d’Artagnan really had it in him to seek out a patroness. Although his exotic looks would surely be appreciated by some of the fine ladies of Paris, d’Artagnan was far too honest to exploit his charms for the sake of the entry fee. Perhaps Athos would find a way to sponsor the Gascon, even though it would be encouraging his competitor. 

***********

He really wasn’t surprised to find d’Artagnan in his office, asking for permission to compete. The lad should have been commissioned long before now. Treville had been trying to place d’Artagnan in the King’s proximity for months. Having served Louis since the King was a teenager, Treville knew what worked to get the monarch’s attention. He would never attend to a random recruit that worked the garrison or on far-flung missions. That’s why his Inseparables, which now included a fourth, had worked so many dreaded parades lately. Eventually, Louis would notice that one of his guards did not wear a pauldron or a blue cloak. He just hadn’t noticed yet.

“You’d be up against the very best.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan replied as he gave a little nod. It was not arrogance, Treville decided. It was calm self-assurance in d’Artagnan’s soft tone. The Gascon knew he could hold his own, and only wanted the chance to prove it. Treville was happy to give it to him, but let his lack of objection provide the message. He had other news to share with d’Artagnan, and was sadly grateful that he should be the one to tell the lad that his farm had essentially disappeared. The structure of command kept d’Artagnan focused and accepting. Treville knew he would break down, and soon, but being in his captain’s office meant the lad would accept the news without showing anything he would be embarrassed by later. 

**************

If anyone, even the king, had asked him yesterday about the best man in the regiment, one name would have been at the forefront of Treville’s thoughts: Athos. Generally, though perhaps not officially, Athos was his second in command. There was no doubt that he was the best swordsman in the regiment, perhaps in all of France. He had bested all opponents, including Treville himself (though Treville had only placed himself in that position once). He was also the best strategist, whose plans, as elaborate as they may be, were generally successful. Even if they had a tendency to go a bit sideways, Athos was usually able to adjust in the heat of battle and achieve the goal to the betterment of the regiment. He was more than competent in shooting and hand-to-hand combat, and if he were not being measured against Aramis and Porthos, would likely be the best musketeer in those areas as well. Likewise, if Aramis and Porthos were not serving side-by-side with Athos, they each could have legitimately claimed the title of best musketeer. As it was, Treville took great pride in his favorite trio who balanced each other so completely. He chuckled a bit at the thought of the three of them defeating all of the Red Guards, but this competition only allowed for one champion. 

Then there was d’Artagnan. The impetuous Gascon had managed to slide so effortlessly into his favorite trio. No other recruit had ever managed to gain their support, much less their friendship. They had always been willing to help train, and sometimes pass judgment, on aspiring recruits, but none had ever truly gained their trust. This lad was flourishing under their guidance. His natural skill was being honed to a professional level in record time. Like Athos, he was an excellent swordsman, and had now bested both Aramis and Porthos, though not necessarily on a regular basis. He hadn’t managed to land a real hit on Athos yet, but Treville knew that many sous had changed hands amongst the men in anticipation of that event. Whenever Athos and d’Artagnan sparred, they gained more attention from the men than any other activity in the yard. In shooting and hand-to-hand, the lad’s training from Aramis and Porthos had enabled him to far outpace any other recruit Treville had seen, even going back to the days when Athos, Aramis and Porthos had each arrived in the garrison. Unlike them, d’Artagnan seemed to promise excellence in all areas of soldiering. 

As he watched his men training from the balustrade, Treville could easily pick out the most likely candidates. He tried telling himself to be fair, and to look at each man equally. But he was really not surprised by anyone in the yard below him; he knew his men too well. Aramis and Porthos had been sparring hard for days, both against each other and against others. Though to be honest, no one really provided any serious competition to either one except for the other. Each was fighting hard for his chance at champion, and a small part of Treville was grateful for the deep connection between the two which would not allow jealousy to come between them. Had they taken on Athos, Treville’s choice may well have been harder. But Athos was not training for himself. He did not spar with anyone other than d’Artagnan. To be fair, Athos did not really need to train for himself. He would be facing Aramis and Porthos if that were the case. Instead, he was coaching d’Artagnan. If he didn’t face the lad in a fight, he stood nearby assessing the Gascon’s skills. There were times when Athos purposely positioned himself in view of the balustrade, allowing him to raise his eyes to Treville with a look that clearly said, “This is your champion.” Treville ignored that look for days, not wishing to betray any preferences. Athos was not one to be ignored. 

Eventually, Treville descended into the yard, watching each match-up carefully. Athos placed d’Artagnan against Aramis, whose skills the lad nearly equaled now. It was an impressive display. Later, when d’Artagnan was easily thrown by Athos, stalking off in anger, Athos made sure that Treville understood that his provocation had been deliberate. “Head over heart” had been the lesson. Indeed, Treville silently berated himself; it was a lesson he should have learned himself by now. 

Treville was faced with a complex decision. To choose his best soldier seemed rather obvious. Putting Athos up as a champion would surprise no one, and most of his men, though perhaps disappointed for themselves, would not resent the choice. But to think of the overall benefit of the regiment, should he really put his best soldier at risk for what was, at its heart, a competition of pride? Athos, and all his men, were at risk every time they marched out of the garrison, but was this bet, one that Treville’s own runaway emotions had agreed to, worth such a risk? To choose d’Artagnan would give the lad the chance to earn his much-deserved commission. King Louis would certainly notice the lack of a pauldron in such a competition. But then, so would the regiment. Was it really fair to the regiment for them to be represented by someone who was technically a volunteer? There were far many other commissioned men with much more experience who would likely resent d’Artagnan for a time to come. While none would voice it to Treville, and he doubted that anyone would cross the Inseparables’ support for the lad, there were myriad ways in which they could make d’Artagnan’s life a misery. Dissension in the ranks was not an advantage on the battlefield, and Treville had to consider the long-term effects of his choice.

If only he knew exactly who his champion would be facing. Treville wanted to discern what his men were up against, and the Cardinal was not to be trusted. Spying was certainly within the purview of the Musketeers, and Treville quickly dismissed the notion that it was not honorable. He had a duty to protect his men. The best way he saw to do that was to know the opponent. 

***********

Addressing his men from the stairs, Treville was close enough to see the disappointment in their faces when he declared that he himself would take the fight. He had been careful enough to say that he would fairly represent them, not that he was the best of them. The captain didn’t stay to absorb their resentment. The quick glances he had were enough. Porthos and Aramis looked stunned; Athos winced; and d’Artagnan, whose eyes had been closed in hope of hearing his own name, looked for all the world like a kicked puppy. It was fair of them, Treville supposed, to have put in so much effort in training, competing, and providing the fee, only to have the chance ripped away from them for unknowable reasons. They would figure it out eventually, but for right now, Treville was prepared for the waves of bitterness that followed him up the stairs. 

Treville had barely dropped into his desk chair when Athos stalked in, fury radiating off him. Not that Treville was surprised. Of course, Athos would be the one man unafraid to stand up to him, to stand up for himself. Treville allowed himself the luxury of running his hand over his eyes, not really wanting to face Athos, not when a part of him would surely agree with Athos. 

“This challenge is my doing. My responsibility to see it through.” Treville hoped that Athos would understand his decision was born from a desire to protect his men, but his lieutenant was too fired up to examine the words. Treville rarely saw such a level of passion from the stoic man, and he hated that he was the cause of it. Though the words bordered on insubordination, Treville saw through the anger to the heart of it. Athos was being equally protective of HIS men, trying to give d’Artagnan the best chance that he deserved.

“You think this is about glory.” It was not a question Treville posed. Neither was it sarcasm, only a resignation that Athos did not understand the decision. Upon seeing LaBarge training with the Red Guards, Treville was unsurprised by the Cardinal’s machinations. It did, however, fill him with dread for choosing his own champion. By all accounts, it had taken all four of his Inseparables to subdue LaBarge enough to have arrested him. Porthos most likely had the physical strength to face him, but that had not even been enough to get the man to Paris. How could Treville possibly put any of his men against this monster alone? There would certainly be injury, perhaps even death, all for Treville’s own impetuous pride. He could not ask that any of them face such a risk, when he himself would not. That, then, was the key. He had to take the fight himself.

*************

Try as he might to focus, Treville was distracted from his warm-up by the rumbling of his men behind him. The realization of just what he had done for them was rippling through the line. If he did not survive this tournament, at least they would know it had not been his last grasp for glory. Then, he pushed his thoughts out, and focused on the sword in his hand and his opponent across the ring. 

************

For a moment, d’Artagnan’s voice broke through Treville’s own mind screaming in pain. Though his vision swam, he saw d’Artagnan leading the others into the ring, raging towards LaBarge. No, this was what he tried to prevent. No one else should be in harm’s way. In a heartbeat, the entire regiment was in the ring, forcing back not only LaBarge but all of the Red Guards. Athos helped him to his feet, and pulled him back to the fence. When the king stopped the melee, Treville was forced, once again, to make the terrible choice. Almost as one, the entire regiment turned to face him, each man’s expression portraying his willingness to take on the fight. His eyes slid across his four favorites, landing on d’Artagnan. The lad’s face was obvious. He needed this. Treville gave him a slight nod before declaring his choice to the king. Then he gave a silent prayer that d’Artagnan was ready. 

**********

Treville leaned back against the wall at the head of his bed, sipping the fine brandy that Aramis had poured for him after stabilizing and bandaging his arm. He suspected there would be a rousing celebration tonight for d’Artagnan’s success, and that Aramis wanted to get to it. Not that he would ever rush the care of a patient, but Treville had no desire to detain him more than necessary. 

“You deserve our thanks, Sir,” Aramis said, as he placed the brandy bottle on the side table after he poured himself a small glass.

“For what? Getting us all into this mess?” Perhaps the pain was making Treville feel as petulant as the king. 

Holding his glass out in a toast, Aramis replied, “For taking pride in us, for protecting us, for trusting us. You, Sir, are the best of us.”


End file.
